CHAPTER 2

Calista's POV

The air inside the cabin of Dominic Lancaster’s custom sports car smelled faintly of expensive leather, rain-proof cedar, and absolute, suffocating annoyance.

Ten minutes ago, I had been trapped in a glass-walled restaurant on the forty-fifth floor of the Lancaster Towers, forced to sit across from Victoria Vance—a woman whose face looked like it had been sculpted entirely out of collagen and severe judgment. My grandfather’s explicit mandate had echoed in my mind the entire evening: “Marry within our social circle by the end of the month, Dominic, or the board votes to hand the hotel chain over to your cousin Marcus.”

Victoria had spent the dinner listing off her family’s real estate holdings and talking down to the waitstaff as if they were pieces of furniture. When she reached across the table to casually stroke my wrist and talk about merging our bank accounts, I had nearly thrown up in my water glass. I made a blunt excuse about an emergency board audit, threw down a black card to cover the exorbitant bill without looking at the total, and bolted out of the building.

Now, I was speeding through the slick, rain-lashed downtown streets, trying to outrun a headache that felt like a jackhammer behind my eyes.

The windshield wipers beat a frantic, rhythmic plea against the glass, but they were barely keeping up with the sheet of gray water pouring from the sky. Up ahead, a massive, neglected pothole sat right at the edge of a poorly drained intersection, filled to the brim with dark, stagnant gutter water.

Before I could react or shift lanes, a sudden movement by the curb caught my eye—a pathetic heap of ruined cardboard boxes and a shivering figure trapped right beside them. My car's front tire caught the deep edge of the crater with a brutal, sickening crunch.

Splash.

A towering wall of dirty, freezing water erupted outward, crashing directly onto the sidewalk like a mini-tsunami.

I hit the brakes instantly, the anti-lock system engaging with a harsh shudder as the car slid a few feet forward before coming to a complete stop. Through the rearview mirror, I watched in stunned silence. The freezing water had completely engulfed the person on the sidewalk, obliterating what was left of their pathetic shelter.

I let out a low curse, put the car in park, and unbuckled my seatbelt. Whatever socialite or beggar was out in this weather didn't deserve to have their night ruined any further by my reckless driving. I pushed open the door, stepping out into the freezing downpour with my expensive tailored suit instantly clinging to my shoulders.

I rounded the back of the car, fully prepared to pull out a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills, hand it to whoever was standing there, and utter a cold apology before driving away to deal with my own miserable life.

Instead, I found myself face-to-face with a literal disaster zone.

The person standing before me was a young woman wearing what looked like a destroyed, mud-soaked wedding dress. Her dark hair was plastered against her pale cheeks, her teeth were visibly chattering from the cold, and her eyes—wide, wet, and burning with an intensity that could melt steel—were locked onto mine.

She didn't look like a helpless victim. She looked like a cornered wildcat ready to go straight for my jugular.

"Are you completely blind, or are you just naturally heartless?" her voice cut through the steady hiss of the rain, sharp and trembling with an unfiltered fury that caught me entirely off guard.

I blinked, water dripping from the sharp bridge of my nose, completely unaccustomed to anyone speaking to me in that tone of voice. In my world, people stuttered, apologized, or smiled too widely when they addressed Dominic Lancaster. They certainly didn't glare at me as if I were a piece of garbage stuck to the bottom of their shoe.

"Look," I started, my voice deep and clipped as I reached inside my soaked jacket for my wallet. "I didn't see the puddle. Here, take this—"

Before I could pull out the cash, she stepped forward—right into the ankle-deep gutter water—and slapped her palm directly against the hood of my car, leaving a clean streak on the rain-slicked matte paint.

"Keep your money!" she yelled over the roar of the traffic behind us, her voice cracking slightly from the cold but carrying a fierce, stinging pride. "You think you can just splash a person, ruin what little they have left, and throw cash at them like they're some stray dog on the street?"

I stared at her hand on my car, then up at her face. A strange, unfamiliar knot tightened in the center of my chest. Most people would have been crying, begging for help, or cursing under their breath. This woman—soaked to the bone in a ruined wedding gown—was standing her ground in the middle of a storm, looking ready to physically fight a man twice her size.

"You're standing on the side of the road in a wedding dress during a thunderstorm," I replied, my tone dropping into its usual icy, defensive register. "If you had any common sense, you'd be inside a building instead of using my car as a punching bag."

Her chest heaved with every ragged breath she took. She narrowed her eyes, stepping even closer until the raw heat of her anger seemed to cut right through the freezing night air.

"Rich as you are, wealthy enough to drive a car that costs more than my entire life, you still don't have an ounce of decency, do you?" she snapped, her voice trembling not from fear, but from pure, unadulterated exhaustion and spite. "You're pathetic."

Without waiting for me to come up with a reply—something that had literally never happened to me in twenty-nine years of corporate boardrooms and high society—she turned on her heel, grabbed a soggy piece of cardboard from her ruined belongings, and trudged away down the dark sidewalk, leaving me standing alone in the freezing rain.

I stood there for a long, quiet moment, watching her retreating figure disappear around the corner of the brick building. The rain soaked through my shirt, but I couldn't move. A slow, heavy realization settled into my mind, alongside an unexpected ember of fascination.

She had guts. More guts than anyone I had dealt with all week.

I got back into my car, the engine purring to life at the push of a button, but as I pulled away from the curb, her furious face lingered in my mind. I didn't even know her name, yet as I drove back toward my silent, empty penthouse, I knew one thing for certain: I hadn't thought about my grandfather's marriage ultimatum or Victoria Vance once during the entire encounter.